A Mad Zombie Party

Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Boys are made of snakes and snails and rattlesnake tails.

The childhood song plays through my head as Cole, Gavin and Frosty fire up their hands. The group wasn’t abandoning ship, after all. And now, I’m once again awed as the flames on Cole and Gavin extend to their shoulders...correction, all the way to their rib cages. All three boys crouch beside the girls and flatten one hand on the chest of one girl and the other hand on the chest of the other. The girls catch fire and scream, bucking and fighting to get away, but eventually they settle down, their wounds healing right before my eyes.

“Sorry about this, my man, but you need it whether you agree or not,” Cole says, then flattens his palm against Frosty’s chest.

Frosty grunts and lurches backward, quickly severing contact.

“Hey,” I shout as I bound over. “You don’t get to touch him without his permission.”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Cole snaps at me. “Stay out of it.”

I open my mouth to reply—

“Stay out of it,” Frosty repeats. With less heat, but still. A rebuke is a rebuke.

Boys!

I look away, the hairs on the back of my neck practically dancing now, and spot a girl standing beside a tombstone. Her face is cast in shadows, but I can see her hair stretches all the way to her waist, where the light shines. The strands are so black they gleam blue. Is she a civilian?

When I take a step toward her, she scrambles backward. If she can see me, she’s not a civilian. One of Cole’s new recruits, here to observe the battle? To learn?

“Hey,” I call, and she bolts. Nope. Not a recruit. I give chase. Anima wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone to observe us so openly. Right?

Right, because Anima no longer exists. I wonder how many years I’ll have to remind myself of that fact before it actually feels real.

Maybe the girl witnessed the fight but doesn’t know she’s a slayer. Maybe she’s freaked out. Or, maybe she’s a spy from my brother’s camp, because River still cares about me and wants to know I’m okay.

A pang of homesickness nearly slices me in two.

A zombie steps into my path and I twist to the side, nailing him in the eye with a dagger as I whiz past him. Only then do I realize I’ve moved out of the light. My heartbeat picks up speed. Am I headed into a trap?

At my right a shadow shifts, and I stop, turn. A sharp sting explodes in my neck...my arm...my neck again. Definitely a trap!

A wave of dizziness nearly topples me as I pull three darts out of my skin. Well, well. Two of my theories are now vapor in the wind. The girl doesn’t work for my brother and she knows she’s a slayer. For her weapon to affect me, she had to shoot it from the spirit realm, where I’m currently located. That’s not something civilians can do, even by accident.

The only other option that makes any sense is...Anima.

“Camilla!” Frosty’s voice echoes through the night, anger causing the “a” to vibrate.

The dizziness fades, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I stuff the darts in my pocket.

I step toward the girl, who hasn’t moved from the trees. She steps backward, into a higher beam of light, and I see that she’s pretty, with wide frightened eyes and skin covered in freckles; one moment she’s standing in place, frozen in terror, the next she’s running away.

I kick into gear, prepared to follow her again—

“Camilla!”

But I can’t leave Frosty behind. I just can’t. Cursing, I backtrack. He’s my first priority, not the girl.

Cole and Frosty are nose-to-nose, arguing.

“—like I told you,” Cole is saying. “I had to make sure you’d heal from a zombie bite without the antidote. That was the only way.”

“And I told you weeks ago I didn’t want the ‘save the bastards’ ability. Camilla!” he shouts a second later.

I haven’t been spotted, I guess. “Guys,” I say. And...did Cole just admit he shared the ability by using dýnamis on Frosty?

Neither boy faces me. They just keep staring daggers at the other, but at least some of the tension has drained from Frosty.

Across the way, Ali is standing between Gavin and Jaclyn, pushing the two apart. “Enough!”

“I would slap you,” Jaclyn growls at the smirking man-boy, “but it would be considered animal abuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin replies, “but I can’t hear you over the sound of your bitchiness.”

“Children.” Ali slaps Gavin’s shoulder before waving a finger at Jaclyn. “This is no place to continue your weird seduction of each other.”

“I’m not seducing. I’m punishing. She allowed too many zombies to bite her,” Gavin says. “I can still see the toxin under her skin.”

Jaclyn throws her arms into the air, clearly exasperated. “Don’t fight them, you told me yesterday. Fight them, you told me today. Why don’t you make up your stupid mind?”

“Guys!” I shout. “There’s a girl out there. She tried to sedate me.” I show them the darts. “We need to find her, like, now.” Before it’s too late. Hell, it’s probably too late already.

A twig snaps behind me, and my first thought is that she’s come back to finish what she started. I spin, a short sword palmed and raised. Not a girl, but a zombie on his hands and knees. He’s closer than I would have guessed, as if he just rose from the grave at my feet. He looks to be my age, maybe younger, a boy who never really had a chance to live. I hesitate—the younger ones always trip me up—and that single second of inactivity allows him to yank my feet out from underneath me.

I fall, landing with a thud, losing my breath. Having trained for this, I roll backward, into the light still shining from the car, and spring into a crouch while reaching out to swipe my sword across his neck.

His head tilts to the side before flopping onto a fresh mound of dirt. Frosty arrives on the scene, his entire arm already engulfed in flames. I blink, and his face, neck and chest are consumed, too. I gape at him. I think he gapes at himself. It’s hard to see his expression underneath all that fire.

“This is your fault,” he says as he turns to point an accusing finger at Cole, who spreads his arms, all I love you, so get used to it.

Oh, to be loved that way.

Frosty touches the zombie, just touches him—a brush of his fingertips against the creature’s head and body—and the pieces burst into black ash. The flames on Frosty’s arms die. He stares at the limbs as if he’s never seen them before.

“Thank you,” I say, only to remember he doesn’t want my thanks. But this time, he doesn’t reply. I guess he’s ignoring me again.

I push to shaky legs. Frosty’s shirt is unmarred by the flames but ripped at the collar, gaping all the way to his navel. You’d think I’d never seen a tanned, toned, tattooed guy before, because I suddenly can’t tear my gaze away, too star-struck by the beauty of him. An angel. A fallen angel. He’s my tormentor and my salvation—and what the hell is wrong with me? Did I hit my head when I fell?

“I could have saved that zombie.” Ali marches over to frown at me, as if I’m the problem. I hate how tall she is, and how tiny she makes me feel. “I could have turned him into a witness.”

“Could you really?” Gavin mentioned seeing toxin underneath Jaclyn’s skin, and I can see it underneath Ali’s, black lines branching from her eyes and mouth. “You were almost completely tapped before you started fighting. Now you’re telling me you’re good as gold?”

Up goes Ali’s chin—a defensive action I know well. “I’m not the problem here. You were supposed to stay by Frosty’s side, not run off to—”

“I told you. I saw someone. A girl. She watched the battle and bolted when I noticed her. I chased her. She shot me up with darts. We need to catch her and question her.”

“If there is a girl out there, and I’m not saying there is—we both know you could have brought those darts with you, intending to feed us this story—she probably doesn’t know she’s a slayer and that there’s a war waging all around her.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the copper tinge of blood. “She was in spirit form. She knows what she is.” Slayers can separate spirit from body naturally, but it’s something we have to learn. Anima long ago found a way to force the action through electronic pulses.

Ali gives me a once-over. “You don’t look like you’ve been tranqed.”

“That I can’t explain. Unless she shot me up with something else.” Like...what? The opposite of a tranq—happy juice? But I’m not exactly happy. Medication of some sort? Poison?

Oh, crap. Bile rises, burning again my sternum. The possibilities are endless, and very few are actually good for me.

“Take these,” I say, shoving the darts into her hand. “Have them tested. Tell me what she’s done to me.”

My panic must penetrate Ali’s suspicions, because she pales. “As soon as I get home, I’ll give them to Reeve and Weber, our new medical advisor.”

Cole massages the back of his neck. “It’s late. It’s dark. We’re all in bad shape. We’re in no condition to go after the girl. I’ll follow her tracks tomorrow.”

I grit my teeth, but also nod. He’s right. We’re all operating on fumes.

“One more thing. Don’t go running around just because you see someone,” Ali tells me. “Next time stick to Frosty’s side as if you’ve been glued.” Like Kat, she has trouble maintaining eye contact while discussing this particular subject. Why? “I want you with him every second of every day. Got it?”

“Am I allowed bathroom breaks?” I ask drily.

“No. Wear a diaper.”

I give her the finger. I’m not wearing a diaper. Ever.

Frosty closes in, the heat he radiates enveloping me, causing goose bumps to break out from head to toe. What the hell kind of reaction is this? I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, rubbing my arms to pretend I’m cold.

“Were you bitten?” he asks.

“Why, are you worried about me?” I hear the hope in my voice and cringe. I think a part of me longs to hear yes, someone—anyone—cares that I exist.

Fury claims his expression, twisting his features. “You are a means to an end. A way to see Kat. Never doubt it.”

Bile rises again, only hotter, but I manage a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Did I really expect him to soften so quickly—or ever?

This is my penance, my only means of atonement, and I’ll see it through to the end. No matter what.

“Let’s go.” His expression is softer, at least. But of course, he takes off without looking back to ensure I’ve followed.

I race after him.

“Don’t forget,” Ali calls. “Hash Town. Seven a.m. If you’re late, I’ll post naked pictures of you all over the internet. And I promise you I’m not bluffing. Kat told me where to find one of her old phones.”

He waves without looking back.

“You and Ali are having breakfast together?” I ask.

“Yes. You’re not invited.”

Ouch. “Try to leave me behind. See what happens.”

He has no reply, but then, he rarely does with me.

We reach our bodies and with a single touch, we’re paired back up. As he stops to answer a question from Bronx—what happened out there?—I pile inside his truck and buckle my belt.

Yesterday, Frosty demanded I walk to his apartment. Tonight, I’m not taking any chances. He’ll have to drag me out of the vehicle kicking and screaming—and then he’ll have to crawl back inside it, because I won’t leave him unscathed.

When he settles behind the wheel, he doesn’t even glance in my direction. And yet, it isn’t until he pulls out of the cemetery that I relax. Or try to. Every muscle I possess is knotted and trembling, the stress of not knowing what’s been done to me jacking me up.

“Great fight,” I say, hoping to make conversation and distract myself. “You worked magic out there.”

He turns up the radio.

I jab my finger at the button, switching the music off. “We’re partners, Frosty. You have to start—”

He speaks over me. “I don’t have to start anything. And we aren’t partners. You and I will never be partners.”

A painful burn returns to my chest. “Look. I’m sorry for my actions in the past. I am. You’ll never know how sorry. I hate what I did, I hate the outcome, but I was backed into a corner. Anima would have killed River, and he’s my only family. I wish I could go back and protect Kat with my own life, but I can’t. All I can do is protect yours now. But if I’m going to do so, you’ve got to start trusting me. At least a little. You can start by talking to me as if I’m a real person with feelings.” Because I am.

“That will happen in never. You aren’t a real person to me. You’re a murderer.” He sounds as cold and merciless as his navy eyes appear. “And just so you know, an apology means nothing without action to back it up.”

“I do know. I just need time to prove myself.”

“Time I’d rather not give you. I don’t need protecting.”

“Kat says otherwise. You heard her. Ali had a vision. At some point, I will save your life. Without me, you’ll die.”

He slams on the breaks as he pulls over to the side of the road. “Dying wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I’d be with Kat. So why don’t you do us both a favor and get out. Your services are no longer needed.”

“But—”

“Now.”

My lips compress into a thin line. My hand shakes as I open the door. I’m hurt by his refusal, yes, but as my feet hit the pavement, I’m also suddenly and inexplicably angry. “You would rather be shot in the chest than spend time with me?” I shout. “I’m that bad? I’m so despicable you feel it’s okay to abandon me on the side of a road, alone, in the middle of the night when light is scarce?”

I palm my daggers. Before Frosty can speed away, I stomp in front of the truck and, glaring at him through the front windshield, slam the tips of both weapons into a tire.

Maintaining a good mad is impossible right now. I’m just too freaking tired. Why did Camilla have to go and be all adorable and crap, throwing a bona fide slayer tantrum?

I stick my head out the window to yell at her, but all I end up saying is “Just...I don’t know...get in or something.”

A moment passes before she climbs back into the truck. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I get out and change the tire, then return to the wheel, gunning the engine.

“If we’re playing would you rather... I’d rather kiss a viper than continue our conversation,” I say. “So maybe let’s play the quiet game instead.”

No response. She doesn’t even stiffen.

This bothers me.

I’m the moron who keeps going. “Have you ever considered therapy? That temper of yours—”

“Doesn’t come out to play nearly as much as yours.”

Good point. “Difference is, rage is sexy on guys.”

As calm as can be, she says, “The guys you’re crushing on must not rage correctly. True rage? It’s a total loss of control, and it’s ugly. What I did to your tires? I meant to do.”

There’s a story there. One I’m strangely eager to hear. But I don’t ask.

Use her and lose her, don’t get to know her.

“Anything else you’d like to say before we get started on that quiet game?” I ask.

Silence.

Again it bothers me and I don’t know why.

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